You're KILLING me!

On the way out of the Steak-n-Shake last night, Stephen was dancing all around the parking lot, unintentionally affecting our schedule and taxing our nerves. He often does this, breaking the cardinal "shortest distance between the car and the restaurant is a straight line" rule, combined with his "I'm a kid, so that speeding car - jagged cliff - flaming poisonous rabid mountain lion can't hurt me" philosophy. Because our Kindergartner was driving us crazy, Monte said "Arrgh, c'mon Stephen, you're killing me!" Laughing at this, Stephen turned around, walked up to daddy, and playfully punched him in a region containing some fairly sensitive reproductive tissue (Stephen didn't aim, but he and Monte are at a certain height ratio, and the gods were smiling on him, and it all just connected that way.) Monte (after a prolonged moment of recovery) got understandably aggrivated and told Stephen that he was in quite a bit of trouble. Stephen, at this point extremely bewildered and a little upset, tearfully said, "Uh, but dad? You said to kill you."

Meanwhile, I did my best to see if my shoelaces had any imperfections in them, because to look up was to lose all control and give in to the laughter, which would have put me in quite a bit of trouble.